Ryder, Phillips, and Lennox surveyed the scene with heavy hearts and a serious case of déjà vu. It was nearly identical to the one from the day before.
But that didn’t make the sight of a tiny body—stiff, cold, blue, and bruised—any less jarring.
Lauren’s skin crawled.
Feelings of failure began creeping in her mind.
But before these thoughts could take over, she quickly pushed her negative feelings aside and resumed a professional demeanor.
“So our guy is committed to his MO, I guess?” Phillips asked.
“We’ll know for sure when I take her back to the lab. But it’s pretty evident.” Lifting the nightgown, Lennox revealed her abdomen.
Carved with precision.
“May she rest in peace,” Lennox said. Phillips hung his head. Lauren knelt down next to the body.
“Where are the parents?” Lauren asked.
“Hale sent over an officer to tell them the news and bring them down to the station,” Lennox said.
“This guy is one sick fuck,” Phillips said with disgust.
Just then, Lennox’s assistant came running up. “We got Isabelle’s toxicology report back,” Patel said.
“And?”
“Nada. Nothing. Zip.”
“What are we dealing with here? A goddamn ninja?” Phillips said.
“I’d believe it right about now,” Ryder said.
She had dealt with a lot of sinister people, but they were always too deranged, too self-absorbed, to outsmart her.
Lauren took in the crime scene one last time.
“One more and we have a serial killer on our hands,” said Phillips.
Lauren was positive that they had all been thinking it, but this was the first time someone had said it out loud.
In that moment, the enormity of the situation washed over Lauren.
She’d dealt with serial killers before, but this was her first as lead detective.
Now she was about to be thrown into the deep end. And it wouldn’t be long before the inevitable invasion of the press, especially given the age of the victims.
She had no time to lose.
“Let’s go, Phillips,” she said, turning and walking swiftly out of the park.
When they arrived at the station, Lauren excused herself.
She needed a minute alone before she could even think about facing Mr. and Mrs. King.
Lauren hadn’t worked out in two days and her brain was beginning to get foggy. She didn’t even have time for coffee that morning.
Her skull pounded from caffeine withdrawal.
She walked into the kitchen and was surprised—and relieved—to find Hale brewing a fresh pot.
“Since when do you even know how to work the machine?” she asked him, smiling for the first time all day.
“Since before you were born, my dear. I think I made it a little too strong, though.”
“No such thing.”
He poured them both a mug-full. “Walk with me, Ryder. Tell me what happened at the park.”
She followed him down the hall. “The scene was basically the same. Horrifying. The perp is very specific about what he likes.”
“Apparently. And...”
Hale could always tell when something was on her mind, so she carried on.
“I just need something I can sink my teeth into. But I’m still at a loss.
“And while I sit here chasing my own tail, he’s out there, God knows where, hunting his next victim.”
“You’re sure he’s going to strike again?” Hale asked.
“He’s definitely not showing signs of slowing down. I don’t know what to do,” she admitted to her mentor.
Lauren was only ever more open about her doubts with one other person: her own father.
Lieutenant Hale shared many qualities with Lauren’s “old man”: he was protective, responsive, and encouraging of the young detective.
Unlike her father, who was warm and comforting, Hale remained cool and kept advice short and direct.
“You should do the only thing I’ve ever asked you to do in the four years that I’ve known you—”
“Five,” Lauren corrected him. “Let me guess? My job?”
Hale nodded. “Yes. Just do your job and the rest will sort itself out.”
“There’s a question my mother used to ask me,” Hale said, staring out the window into the dull grey sky.
“What’s that?”
“She used to say, ‘Olly, How do you wash 500 dishes?’”
“How?” Lauren questioned.
“One at a time.”
Lauren took another sip and re-centered.
“The Kings are waiting in your office,” he said before getting up and walking out of the kitchen. “When you’re ready.”
Before she left the kitchen, Lauren pulled out her phone and opened her messages with Liam.
On the way to her office, Lauren bumped into Officer Davis.
“How’s it going?” Davis asked her. “Any leads?”
Lauren shook her head. “I’m going in to talk to the Kings now.”
“Oh, that’s gonna be rough,” Davis said.
“Yeah. These kinds of conversations are always sensitive. If you want to see how we handle these things you can come in and take notes for us.”
“Really?”
“I mean, if you want to.”
“Of course, yeah. Thank you, Detective!”
Davis followed behind her as Lauren grabbed Phillips and gently pushed open the door to their office.
Richard and Lillian King were huddled together on the couch, faces stained with tears.
They were younger than Lauren, but this morning must have aged them by a decade.
Lauren sat down across from the couple.
“Hello. I’m Detective Ryder. This is Detective Phillips. We’ll be investigating your daughter’s case. We just want to ask you a few questions—”
Richard cut in before she could continue. “I don’t know what you want us to tell you. When we went to bed the night before last, everything was fine.
“We woke up yesterday morning and Marie was gone. Now we find out she’s dead.”
“Richard, stop,” Lillian pleaded. “They’re just trying to help us.”
“Yes,” Phillips said. “We just need as much information as we can possibly get.”
“What do you want to know?” Lillian asked.
“Well, first,” Lauren said, “we want to understand your daughter a little better. What were Marie’s interests? Did she do any activities outside of school?”
“Which one?” Lauren asked.
“Astaire Kids on 30th.”
“You got that?” Lauren asked Davis, who nodded, scribbling down the information.
“Anything else?”
“Not really,” Lillian replied.
“She’s six,” Richard said sharply. “We took her to school. We brought her home. Wherever we wanted her to go, that’s where she went.”
“Right. Got it,” Lauren said, keeping her cool. “Now, can you tell me about your bedtime routine with Marie?
“I just want to know if there’s any chance that something out of the ordinary happened that night. Something that you may have overlooked.”
“Sure,” Lillian said. “After school we read and played until about five or six. Then my mom came over and helped me with dinner.
“When she left, we did bath time, changed Marie into her favorite princess PJs, and then Richard sang her to sleep. Like he always did.”
Richard sank back into his chair, as if this was the first moment he realized that this tradition with his daughter was now a thing of the past.
He gripped at the seat of the couch, like he wanted to dissolve into the cushion; to disappear rather than accept this horrible truth.
“Listen,” Lauren said. “I just want to say again how deeply, deeply sorry I am. I’m not sure if you’ve heard, but another girl died in the exact same scenario.”
“We actually read about it,” Lillian said, tears now streaming down her face. “I prayed for that little girl’s soul. And I thanked God for the safety of ours.
“I just can’t believe it,” she continued. “I can’t believe this happened to us. To her.”
She buried her face in her husband’s chest. He enveloped her with his arms.
His hug looked tender, but his gaze, still directed at Lauren, was murderous.
“If you did your job and caught the guy after the first death,” he snarled, “we would still be at home with our baby girl.”
Lauren clenched her jaw as she suppressed any kind of retort.
“Thank you for your time,” Lauren said, doing her best to brush off Richard’s last words.
“The crime scene investigation team will be at your apartment shortly to look for any signs of forced entry or evidence,” she continued. “I’ll give you a call tomorrow.”
“Thank you,” Lillian said. Richard said nothing, but reached out and shook Lauren’s hand.
The Kings gathered themselves for a moment and walked out of the room.
Lauren, Phillips, and Davis all stared at each other blankly.
“Well,” Lauren said abruptly, remembering Hale’s words, “let’s get back to work.
“Phillips, call Mrs. Mackintosh and see if Isabelle was ever enrolled in a class at Astaire Kids.”
“Will do,” he said.
“I need to think for a minute. Davis, leave the notes with me.”
They vacated the office and suddenly Ryder was alone to stew in her own creeping sense of defeat.
She downed the rest of the coffee and stared at the piece of paper.
She thought she might call Marie King’s grandmother and see if she had noticed anything unusual. But that was sure to be a dead end.
Just then, Ryder’s eyes narrowed in on two words, scribbled onto the page:
Mrs. King said that they put Marie to sleep in her favorite pajamas. But she was found in a nightgown.
Lauren rustled through the papers on her desk until she found a picture of Isabelle Mackintosh on the roundabout.
She was wearing the same exact nightgown as Marie.
It wasn’t much of a lead, but in a dark cave, even the faintest spark could serve as guiding light.
Anything that connected Isabelle and Marie was enough to renew a sense of hope in Lauren.
She would catch him now.
She had to.
Lauren didn’t want to lay her eyes on a third blood-stained nightgown.
